


Nature Does not Hurry (Yet Everything is Accomplished)

by AlmesivaMoonshadow



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Corruption, Fluff and Angst, Heroes to Villains, Historical References, Loss of Innocence, Male Friendship, Martial Arts, Mentor/Protégé, Military Backstory, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Personal Growth, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Philosophers, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29763957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmesivaMoonshadow/pseuds/AlmesivaMoonshadow
Summary: ―During the final years of their troops withdrawing from Vietnam and being deployed home, Terry appeals to John Kreese with a request to become his student and while he never expected much progress, expertise or skill from his eager, would-be apprentice, John, as a Sensei and a several times awarded and decorated Karate champion out on the frontier, raising the slumping, degraded morale of the men stationed with them, found himself creating an accidental masterpiece from the least expected of materials.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Nature Does not Hurry (Yet Everything is Accomplished)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtmosphericFantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericFantasy/gifts).



* * *

Terry Silver came to John merely saying _"I want to learn"_ and that's how it all started.

With a desire.

And of course, Twig was the least likely candidate for Karate lessons John could've envisioned at the time - didn't figure the kid had it in him, being as scrawny, skinny and as nervy as he was, poor bastard would've been knocked to his face and intimidated out of the ring within ten seconds of stepping into it by the much larger, experienced and worthy candidates Kreese took upon teaching and instructing around the boot-camp. It was simply the way of the world and the way of the particular sport, or any sport in general as a whole; it didn't take kindly to weakness. It took even less kindly to meekness. Insecurity. And Terry, well - Terry being Terry - he had an abundance of all three. In fact, it was a surprise he was here in the first place. The draft was a cruel, equal-opportunity mistress though and cannon fodder was always cannon fodder. A lot of these recruits, were in simple terms, merely expected to die in crossfire. That was their reason for being. Yet, Terry Silver was here, somehow, miraculously and against all logic outliving his much tougher compatriots, his own commanding officer, at least several other soldiers outranking him in every field, not that John personally didn't have a hand in ensuring he remains unharmed, standing at the entrance of the beige tent erected at the outskirts of the camp with an eager expression, barely fifty pounds in his whole body as a total. He wasn't just a twig at this point, metaphorically speaking, he was more akin to a starved, beaten puppy eager for scraps and acknowledgement. Survivor, huh? Well, now -

Friends or no friends, John could admire the determination of an underdog.

It reminded him of himself, to a certain extent.

Yet, John himself never had this, how would he even describe it -

Fire behind his eyes, almost like something changed in him ever since their capture.

Ponytail's death was extremely hard on Terry, even though he made a point not to outwardly show it.

In the same way the sudden news of Betsy's was hard on John - almost like they had this mutual understanding, him and Twig.

They were two people in mourning, negotiating mutual terms on how they're going to carry out said mourning.

Training it out of themselves seemed like the right course of action.

People in their situation couldn't afford to cry.

_-"You sure y'wanna do this? I mean, Terry, listen, once you start, there's no going back. I mean, you can quit at any given moment, but I'd rather not take to training someone who's simply going to throw in the towel after two days and then -"-_

John took upon himself to tenderly lecture Twig like he would a younger sibling and to avoid any rumors of favouritism that might arise from all the other students he took upon teaching catching wind of him going easy on a newcomer - to prepare him and forewarn him of what was to come and if it was any other pipsqueak, wannabe athlete or bravado-filled punk on the force, he wouldn't have bothered to politely ease them into it and he'd allow them to learn it the hard way, at the opposite end of their opponent's fist, but this was Terry he was talking to and Terry needed all the help he could get, both where well-meaning advice was concerned and actual, practical aid out in the line of fire. Kid was sort of hopeless and if he thought throwing on some muscles and learning how to punch he was going to solve all his problems, well, then, Kreese wasn't about to dash his hopes. He would've outright dashed someone else's, and gladly at that, but not Terry's. Terry had so little hope left as it was, an orphan, an unwanted, a nobody, just like himself.

_-"You really think so little of me, huh, Johnny?"-_

Terry retorted sounding, well, not offended exactly, as much as profoundly hurt.  
Couldn't have been easy, being one of the youngest privates here.  
Having so much to prove to everyone, so much to live up to.  
And John knew he lied on his application to get in here.  
He knew because Twig personally confessed to him so.  
A secret between them and an oath of trust.

And while Terry wasn't a Cobra by any stretch of the imagination, Kreese wasn't about to rat on him.

Question still stood; did he really think so little of Terry Silver?

Fact was, he wasn't exactly fighter material - and if he was, he'd hardly need so much help out on the field as he did.

John cared for about him, so he wanted to spare him the excess, unnecessary pain, least he could do.

_-"No, Terry, that's not what I meant, I'm just looking out for you. Okay? You would have to work on it a lot. A whole lot. Can't expect me to go easy on you. You would have to put in the effort. Put on some pounds. Some muscle. Practice daily. And the practice some more! And more! It has to become a lifestyle, basically. Not just some hobby you randomly pick up, to prove some kind of point to someone."-_

John turned out around to look at him directly (he deserved to receive his rejection, up front, eye to eye, in an honorable, honest way, at least) grabbed him by the shoulder giving him an encouraging, comforting squeeze, trying for excuses and instantaneously feeling guilty when faced with Terry's wide-eyed, crestfallen stare - there was just something about this kid that often evoked visceral pity and sympathy, making it hard to say no to him even if one wanted to, something that made John's heartstrings jolt in internal, subconscious pain whenever he said something even slightly teasing, slightly negative, slight not in agreeance with what Terry liked to hear. Something akin to guilt. Akin to stepping on a dog's tail by sheer accident and feeling that indescribable anger at one self for the painful yelp the animal elicits and immediately wanting to apologize to it even though the puppy hardly understood what it all meant. There was no denial it was all slightly manipulative on Silver's behalf, whether he was aware or not, but John found it impossible from actually turning with away with a reasonable, believable bullshit bail-out.

Terry never saw what was at the bottom of the snake pit in the jungle.

How would even know what being a Cobra meant?

Thing was, he didn't - he was just a boy.

A boy way out of his depth.

_-"Nature does not hurry. Yet everything is accomplished."-_

Terry talked back to him with an uncharacteristic, surprising amount of bravado and desperation to impress him somehow, anyhow, no doubt catching wind of John trying to talk him out of this idea with as much sensitivity as he could, quoting, what was that - _Lao fucking Tzu?_ The nerve of this kid. The actual nerve! Leaving John to chuckle in genuine amusement and then actually laugh in a way he hasn't ever since Captain Turner told him about the accident at Pasadena during their capture and that was something he took months to recover from - actually, not as much recover as to start being able to do just learn how to live on autopilot again somehow and pull himself up by his boot straps, being passed from one medical facility to the other, put through one test and then several more until it was reasoned that he was mentally stable enough to actually be left in charge of a squad of his own men without doing something stupid or putting a gun to his head or deployed home and deemed invalid for service - but here Terry was, making him smile.

Goddammit - as he previously concluded, Twig left him with the inability to just say no and be done with it.

So, John Kreese started out with the weights and the cardio.

Pumping some body mass into him.

The discipline.

Captain Turner always said Terry Silver wouldn't live long in Vietnam and that he'd be one of the first sent home in a wooden casket or with a limb blown off, but there he was, not only outliving him, but being early for every training session, coming in before everyone else and leaving last, if at all, spending entire sleepless, sweaty evenings at the makeshift fighting ring into the late hours of the night just practicing and practicing and practicing some more, honing his kicks, repeating every punch and every stance and every move Kreese ever taught him and honestly, his dedication and ferocity was not only unexpected but a bit baffling, to be frank and well, while Terry was in fact always tall, even compared to the guys in the line-up of their squad, upon putting on more weight, John quickly realized he was by about half a head above him in height in ways that was never appearent before. Something was brewing here. Something he couldn't quite pin-point with a finger - a twinge of pride, positive surprise and ego intermingling in John when Terry managed to knock out his first opponent ever, fist forward and bloody, his war-face roaring, sparing no expense to be merciful. Strike first, strike hard.

He made this.

How on earth did he make this?  
  
From that stuttering, flustered, needy kid, to this?

Terry was all glistening muscle and defined joints and raw, agile power.

Kreese felt akin to a goldsmith who accidentally managed to create a bejeweled crown worthy of a king.

Not even realizing he had the skill necessary to dream up of something like that, least of all draw it into reality, like some sort of magician.

And he wasn't going to lie that in the moment Terry cheerfully approached him, jumping up and down, flexing his own arms with self-satisfaction at his own physique, John almost felt daunted.

_-"Johnny! Johnny! Look at these! Look at these babies! You think we can beat Charlie with arms like these!?"-_

Terry Silver was like an unruly, hyperactive child trying to appease their parent, smoothing his own skin with an almost obsessive, almost perverse sort of glee, absolutely self-enamoured with what he was seeing and shrieking through an unhinged laugh akin to a hyena's, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug immediately afterwards and spinning him around in the middle of their sparring ring riddled with dried up blood and the broken teeth of the previous contestants and opponents he's managed to promptly do in. And being done-in by Terry meant being picked up and sent to the nurse's office for a quick stitch up. Shit, he was strong. Really strong. Worryingly so. Worst of all, Terry was far too aware of just how strong he was getting. And, well, while John has seen fellow soldiers change beyond recognition throughout the duration of the war, from everything ranging from being shell-shocked, injured and rendered immobile to being addicted to crack, heroin, gambling or pussy up in some Saigon whorehouse, Terry Silver's transformation was easily the most drastic and radical of them all in all of his career so far. He was, almost entirely a different man by now. Of course, vestiges of his old self were still undeniably present. His overly-enthusiastic, manic nature. His bright-eyed, exhaustingly energetic disposition - too bright-eyed, in fact for anyone caught in the midst of an actual all-out war, even in a stalemate, but that was neither here nor there. Terry was peculiar and all John could do is return the hug.

_-"Yeah, sure, Terry. Why not."-_

He responded flatly, feigning some sort of cheery, positive disposition for Terry's sake alone, through bleak, defeated amusement, tapping him on the shoulder several times in a row as the person who used to be Twig proceeded prolonging their tight, borderline painful embrace and continued feverishly gushing on about how thankful he is for their lessons together and all the great work Cobra Kai's been doing out here under his tutelage - on the even greater things they'll do with Cobra Kai once they get out of here victorious, hailed as heroes, decorated and venerated, they way they deserve - how they'll make a name for themselves - how they'll be famous - how they'll make a spectacular business venture one day, when the stars align and everything's in perfect order - leaving Kreese with the desperation of trying to ignore the idle smoke-break patrol chatter among the staff and the personnel around the camp whispering about their troops retreating and being deployed home. This war was as good as lost and Terry Silver was here talking about winning it with his bare-knuckle, over-inflated bravado alone like there was anything worth winning out in this snake-ridden, malaria-infested, frag-mine contaminated hellhole - of course, John wasn't going to piss on his sunshine right about now. Kid seemed happy. Truly happy. Perhaps, the only happy person present at the moment. How could he have the heart to take that away from him? How could he have the heart to rip apart his hopes like that?

Ah well, when all was said and done -

At least they still had their devotion.

Because, beyond that, everything else was futile.


End file.
